for the journey

My morning commute takes me through some very different places. I begin on an estate, travel into the city and then back out into the suburbs. How much does that sound like the American dream?! By the time I've stepped of my second bus onto the rain filmed tarmac, I'm in a quiet village-like setting; a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the congested thoroughfares of urban Manchester. In this little part of the world, seasons have clearly changed.

Autumn has dumped it's harvest cocktail of rain, leaves and dirt onto the street corners. The drains are overwhelmed with water; the pavements smattered with an organic sludge. Crisp yellow colours are basted to the city floor, trodden under the heals of passing school children. Nature's deposits acquiring a dew licked sheen as they float steadily to the ground. The colours are rich and bright.

Cyclists, students and delivery drivers all leave their impressions on the earth in it's vegetative state. The earth takes a deep breath out after the joy and pent up excitement of summer.

The forecasts are grey and the crunch continues. But life and the world is no less beautiful.

madness

Earlier today I was in Manchester, half way back home on my regular commute. As I stood at the bus stop a homeless person approached people in the queue asking for change. You might be thinking "Big deal, it's a city, people are always asking for money - get used to it." Sometimes life makes you take a second glance though. This wasn't just any homeless person. In fact it took me a few seconds to work out what was going on. This was a young child, no more than a metre high, with cross eyes, her mother walking slowly behind her, complete with baby filled papoose. A whole family made homeless, and begging on the streets of our sore, scarred city. If you're not already aware, our current financial crisis is caused by a lack of accessible credit. My question to you is this, and pardon me for being blunt. Your next mortgage or your next meal... what are you worrying about? The world is an insane place to live sometimes.

wearing your heart on your sleeve

Many of you will know that I am intimately acquainted with the Greater Manchester Public Transport network. Three days a week I catch buses to and from college on my killer 3.5 hour round-trip commute.

Now there was nothing weird about the journey home the other day. As per usual I got on the bus (cold) and I sat until I reached my destination, reading a book. For my second leg I seldom read a book, primarily because it has become my custom to fall asleep.

A few minutes later, I woke up. I hadn't missed my stop, but there was a different passenger beside me than before we set off. He had a tattoo on the back of his hand. It depicted a cross (seemingly Christian) with a heart in the middle. Beside it was depicted a spider, spread across the skin on his varicose veined limb.

Having no shame (which happens when I've just woken up) I jumped straight in there with my inquisitive tone. "I like your tatoo..." (no response but a blank look) "What does it mean?" I said searching for some meaning.

I went away dissappointed. This guy didn't seem to know, and if he did, he wasn't going to tell me. He was closed. I didn't press him and we sat for the rest of the journey in silence. I got off the bus. I was disappointed.

So what do you think this tatoo means dearest reader?

And why did he not want to share?